Page 25 of Buck This
“For fucking up.”
“Buck This,” Torrey said low, handing him a marker. “When a fan asks for an autograph, you just give them one.”
Oh. Right. Fans. He hadn’t had those before. He’d had haters instead.
He cleared his throat and spread out the T-shirt she handed him on the table, then signed it.
Buck This.
Stay Bad.
The woman squealed and showed her friend and then thanked him like a hundred times.
“Well, that was weird,” he said, and turned for Torrey.
“Can you sign mine too?” a young boy asked.
“And mine?” a dad with a kid on his shoulders asked.
“I’m buying the black one,” said a lady in line. “Do you have a lighter colored pen?”
“I’ll find one!” Torrey volunteered, and then she was off.
He’d barely signed three of the white t-shirts before she returned with a silver pen. She was out of breath like she’d run, and her eyes sparked with excitement.
And something possessed him. He was surrounded by people, and the crowd was growing, and he had this moment of drowning. He was overwhelmed under the mass of people pressing forward, and he had the urge to snap and tell everyone to leave him alone.
But…
Torrey was looking at him like he was worth a damn, and in this moment, he sure wanted to be worth a damn.
He inhaled deeply and said, “Hey, can I say hi to this little hellion real quick and then I’ll sign whatever you want?”
“Absolutely!” one of the ladies called from the line.
“A girl’s girl, I like it,” Torrey said, pointing to her. She scrambled around the table, and she was waving both her hands and saying, “Hi, hi, hi,” in this little excited voice and he lost his mind in front of everyone and pulled her in, squeezed her ass, and kissed her. God the feel of her curves under his hand turned him on. He released her, smacked her on the ass gently, thenleaned in and murmured against her ear, “I don’t know if I can do this. It’s a lot.”
“Okay. That’s okay. I’ll organize and make it easier.” She squeezed his hand, and it settled something tight in his chest. “Hey guys, Buck This Storme is right in between training sessions and only has about half an hour to sign. He has to go meet his coach, but we will get as much signed as he’s able. Just be patient and start lining up here if you already have your shirt.” She had a system down by the second shirt. She took the fabric, spread it out on the end of the merch table for him, and he signed as she held the fabric taut. Torrey chatted and joked and charmed everyone, which was great because he didn’t want to talk. He was as polite as he knew how to be, but Torrey really took the reins on it all.
Fifteen minutes in, and he had settled into the system she had set up. And when the thirty minutes were up, she made the announcement. “I hate to be the bad guy, but he’s already late to meet his coach. Big night tonight! I’m so sorry.”
“Aaaawww,” a couple of people in line complained.
“I’m really sorry. He would stay if he could, but his schedule is insane today.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” someone asked from the crowd.
There were a dozen camera phones taking video and pictures of him right now, and the question caught him off guard. Before he could answer, she said, “Teammate and schedule enforcer.”
“I saw y’all kissing,” someone called out.
“Time to go,” she rushed out, untying her cash apron. She handed it to another of the merchandise vendors and waved, promising, “I’ll come back later with the new order of shirts. I’ll text you when I’m on my way!”
She was getting surrounded by people, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the crushing bodies against her, so he reachedinto the chaos and pulled her out by the hand, offered a wave and forced a smile at the crowd, and then led her out of there. He needed her away from the disappointed energy that was building.
Beside him, she did this little one-sided skip, and he bit back a smile.
“You just signed real-life autographs,” she said excitedly.
